


In Plain Sight

by TheManicMagician



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Bullying, F/M, Family, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Tony Stark Has A Heart, post Avengers 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-07-29 19:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManicMagician/pseuds/TheManicMagician
Summary: There’s a serial killer in Queens who leaves his victims mangled and half-eaten. Peter is acting erratically, and pushes everyone who loves him away in his hunt for the killer. Tony just wants the kid to be safe.





	1. Before the Storm

Spider-Man swung through New York City, grinning beneath his mask. It’d been muggy and wet for the past several weeks, but today the air was crisp and the sun warm in the cloudless sky.

Peter breathed deep. His foot skimmed lightly over the yellow top of a taxi as he glided low. True to form, the driver honked at him. Peter gave the disgruntled man a wave as he swung around the corner.

The Avengers were off world—which, Peter was still not over interplanetary travel, like holy shit—at the moment, leaving the defense of New York to the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

(He knew Dr. Strange lived around here somewhere, but he didn’t count. Peter had never seen him patrolling, and half the job was making sure the people knew you were around, and had their backs.)

Peter had expanded his territory accordingly in their absence, spending time in each of the five boroughs. So far he’d caught a few pickpockets in Manhattan, who’d attempted to prey on oblivious tourists around 42nd street, but otherwise New York was getting on just fine.

Still, Peter remained vigilant! Mr. Stark was expecting a full report when he got back.

Spider-Man was about to turn in for the night, halfway across the Queensboro Bridge when Karen piped up.

_“Peter, I’ve just received a report of a fire in Chinatown. Firefighters are heading towards the scene, but it has spread to two apartment buildings.”_

“On it!”

Peter webbed one of the bridge’s support beams and pivoted back around towards Manhattan.

He arrived at the scene roughly thirty minutes after Karen’s alert. The local firefighters had beaten him there. Three fire trucks were parked haphazardly in the street, the firefighters rushing to subdue the rampaging flames before the fire spread even further. One of the apartment buildings on fire was six stories tall, the other eight. The scene was chaotic as the firefighters rushed to rescue civilians, keep onlookers from getting too close, and douse the roaring flames. Smoke hung thickly in the air.

Spider-Man perched atop a fire-hydrant as a fireman secured the hose attached to it.

“What’s the situation like inside?” He yelled to be heard over the cacophony of noise.

“We’ve got some folks still up on the eighth floor.” The fireman said. While some police officers and firefighters disliked Spider-Man, most respected him now that he’d proven himself on several mid-profile captures, and were willing to work with him in times of crisis.

“Leave it to me.”

Peter stuck himself to the building and began to climb. The heat of the brick was dampened to a bearable level by his suit, and for the billionth time Peter blessed its design.

The heat had cracked the windows on the eighth floor. Peter shattered one of them with a single kick. He swung into the apartment.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” He called out. The nano-tech in his suit supplied oxygen to him, so he didn’t have to worry about smoke inhalation.

His scalp prickled, and he intuitively rolled forward to dodge a wooden support beam. He needed to move fast. While he may be protected from the smoke, he’s pretty sure his suit couldn’t withstand an eight story building’s worth of brick and mortar atop him.

“Karen, scan for life forms.”

 _“Scanning.”_ Even as she spoke, three heat signatures appeared in the apartment across the hall from the one he was currently in. _“There is a family of three in apartment 8F.”_

Peter ran out of the apartment. When he reached the hallway, he kicked down the door to 8F. Peter cringed back as heat slammed into him. The fire was even more intense in here.

“Hello? I’m getting you out of here!”

The family rushed to him from the closet they were hiding in. Shirts were tied around their faces, makeshift masks to keep out some of the smoke. The mother pushed a young girl into his arms. The tears on the girls face evaporated even as she wailed.

“小雨!” She screamed.

Peter led the family back through the apartment he entered from. All the while, the kid burrowed against his neck and kept screaming the same thing over and over.

“What is she saying, Karen?”

“小雨!”

_“Sprinkles.”_

They reached the shattered window. A firefighter had come up on the ladder, and was waiting for them. Spider-Man handed off the girl first.

“小雨,” She sobbed.

“Karen, scan 8F for pets.”

Leaving the family to be escorted down by the firefighters, Peter rushed back into their apartment. He searched wildly around the living room.

_“There is a cat beneath that couch.”_

Peter heaved the couch out of the way, and scooped up a tiny white kitten.

“Is there anyone else still in the building?”

_“Just you, Peter.”_

The floor groaned ominously beneath his feet.

“Right. Time to go.” Cradling the kitten close to his chest, Peter ducked and dived around falling debris.

The family was clear of the window, but the firefighter had remained behind in case there were more to save.

“All clear!” Peter said.

“Move it!” The firefighter hollered.

Spider-Man didn’t need to be told twice—he leapt through the window and stuck himself to the fire truck’s extended ladder. He climbed down, and landed by the EMTs.

“Can you help this cat?” He asked. One of the EMTs that wasn’t occupied with a human patient came fourth. She took the kitten, and pressed a toddler-size oxygen mask to the animal’s face.

“小雨!”

Spider-Man turned. The girl he saved dragged her parents over to him. He looked to the EMT. The kitten was soot-covered and coughing, but very wriggly and alive in the med tech’s hand. The EMT gave him a firm nod.

Spider-Man crouched down to look the girl in the eye.

“Sprinkles is going to be just fine.”

Peter was about to ask Karen to translate for him when the EMT handed the kitten back to him. Peter gave the cat a quick pat on the head before he returned it to the girl.

She brightened instantly, and clutched Sprinkles to her chest. The kitten purred loudly, recognizing its owner. Its pink tongue flicked out to lick her hand.

“Thank you, Spider-Man,” The girl’s mother said.

Peter straightened. “Of course! Just doing my job.”

The girl rushed forward for a hug, and Spider-Man happily returned the embrace.

Things had been rough—and that was really an understatement—since the Snap was reversed. They’d lost many heroes in the final battle against Thanos. Too many. There were many days that Peter felt guilt, that he survived when so many did not. But nights like tonight, it all feels worth it. This was what he was meant for.

“Let’s go home, Karen.” Spider-Man shot off a web, and launched himself into the air.

~*~

Bells shrilled, signalling the end of the school day. As students filtered past him, Peter pulled up the _Daily Bugle_ on his phone.

**FIREFIGHTERS SAVE CHINATOWN**

Screamed the headline. The article went on to discuss the details of the blaze. The electrical fire, caused by antiquated, faulty wiring throughout the six story building, claimed both that building and the one beside it. The six story building crumbled entirely, the centuries-old brick no match for the searing flames. The eight story building was still standing, but it was a husk of its former self. But, thanks to the efforts of the firefighters and Spider-Man, no lives were lost.

Peter grinned. The editor of the _Daily Bugle_ , J. Jonah Jameson, was his own personal Gordon Ramsay. Jameson’s gone on all types of podcasts and printed so many articles lambasting Spider-Man, calling him a public menace and trying to twist his actions into something villainous. But in this article, Jameson had to begrudgingly admit Spider-Man had done no wrong, and had actually helped; videos of Spider-Man rescuing the kitten have already gone viral. Sure, Jameson framed him as an afterthought, only mentioning his part of the fire rescue in the last sentence of the article. But it was still progress! Peter had the feeling he’d wrangle a glowing review out of Jameson one day.

“Hey dude.” Ned nudged Peter in the arm as he caught up to him in the hallway. He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially: “I saw everything on the news. Great job.”

Peter beamed. “Thanks, man.”

They walked together to the library, to the first week decathlon practice for their junior year.

“Oh, we still on for this Saturday?”

“Yeah!”

“Cool. It’s been a while since we’ve just like, hung out doing nothing, you know?”

Peter nodded. Once Aunt May calmed down after discovering his secret hobby of running around in spandex all night, she laid down some ground rules for him. He had to get at least Bs in his classes, stay involved in one club, and restrict his Spider-manning to four days a week (and be back in bed by 2 a.m.) unless there was a dire emergency. And by dire emergency she meant aliens falling from the sky, and nothing less than that.

At first, Peter had chafed under the restrictions. Before she’d known, he had gone out as Spider-Man every night, and would get a few snatches of sleep before he had to get up for school. He had the perspective to see now that it wasn’t healthy, and he still felt guilty about all the times he’d blown off Ned to go on a patrol that ended with zero crimes encountered. Aunt May’s rules helped Peter better balance everything going on in his life. He felt more in control.

Most of the decathlon team was already settled in by the time he and Ned got there. Including—ugh—Flash.

Of course, his tormentor instantly honed in on him. Peter hadn’t even set his backpack down yet before Flash sneered: “Shouldn’t you be at the “Stark Internship” right now?”

Peter avoided his gaze. The best way to deal with Flash was to just not engage.

M.J. was the last to arrive, a petrified-looking freshman in tow.

“Everyone, say hello to the new meat.”

They chorused a greeting. The freshman fidgeted and tried for a smile.

“I’m Edward, but people call me Eddie. It’s nice to meet you all.”

Eddie took the spare seat beside Peter. Peter gave him an encouraging smile, which the freshman returned.

M.J. plopped into her chair at the head of the table, and said offhand: “Oh and Flash, you’re down to second alternate.”

Predictably, he exploded.

“What the hell do you mean, second alternate?” Flash leapt out of his chair. No one was surprised, save for Eddie, who stared, wide-eyed.

“The newbie scored higher on the ranking test we did. So he’s first alternate now.”

Flash’s face reddened. It was humiliating for a junior to be ranked below a freshman.

“That’s bullshit! That’s—That’s—” He cast about for a target. And predictably, it was Peter. “Parker put you up to this!”

Ned, ever faithful, rallied to Peter’s defense. “Flash, it’s not Peter’s fault you bombed the test.”

“Don’t you know, lard-o? He’s sleeping with the team captain! It’s obvious he had her lower my score on purpose to make me look bad!”

Peter went scarlet at the mention of him and M.J. M.J, of course, was unphased.

“Keep it down!” The librarian scolded Flash as she drifted by with a cart of books to put back.

“I’m—You—Mr. Harrington won’t agree to this!” Flash stomped off to find their teacher.

M.J. shrugged in his wake. “It was Mr. Harrington’s choice anyway, so…”

“I can be second alternate.” Eddie said, earnestly. “Really, I don’t mind. I don’t want to cause any problems.”

“No.” Peter blurted. “Just ignore him. He’s a dick.”

He could take Flash picking on him—he had for years now—but he couldn’t let Flash ruin this freshman’s chance to shine. It was pretty much certain Peter would miss decathlon competitions in the future, and he’d rather give his spot to Eddie over Flash any day.

By the time Flash sulked back to the table, they had already broken off into groups to quiz each other. Peter usually paired with Ned, but when Eddie’s timid eyes lifted to him with a mute request, he couldn’t deny him.

“Which Florida city is the southernmost point in the continental United States?” Peter read off the card.

Eddie thought for a moment, then perked up.

“Key West!”

“You got it.” That was the last of the cards; Eddie was pretty damn fast. “So, Eddie, why’d you join the team?”

Eddie shrugged.

“My mom said I had to join some clubs. Looks good for colleges and whatnot. Plus if I joined a few, she said she’d get me a camera.”

“You like to take photographs?”

He asked the right question—Eddie lit up like the sun. “Yeah, I’m—I’ve been going around after school since I was like, ten. Look at this!”

Eddie flipped through the photos on his phone, and showed Peter one of Spider-Man, sailing through the Washington Square Arch.

“Wow!” Peter was genuinely impressed. The picture framed Spider-Man nicely, and was in focus. Most photos of him that circulated the web (heh, _web_ ) were blurry or unflattering. Ned still had that picture of Peter face-planting onto a car as his phone lock screen, and every time he saw it he died a little more inside.

“Spider-Man’s cool.” Eddie said. Peter preened. He was _cool_. “My dad doesn’t really like him, though.”

Their conversation was interrupted as M.J. wrangled them all back to the meeting table. She gave each of them a book to read, all on their topics of focus. Peter grimaced as he was handed a weighty physics book. He’d have Karen read it aloud to him during patrol.

“That’s all for today. Scram.”

After M.J. closed out the session, the group scattered. Peter hung back with M.J., ignoring Flash’s glower and waving Ned and Eddie off.

“Eddie’s smart,” He told M.J. as she stuffed flashcards back into her backpack. “I think he’ll be great on the team.”

“I know how to pick ‘em.” M.J. said.

Now that they were alone, M.J. was bold enough to give him a quick peck on the lips.

Peter’s heart fluttered. The smile M.J. gave him was soft and private, a vulnerability to it that she let only him see. He grinned back like a doofus.

The war against Thanos really put things into perspective for Peter. He and M.J. had skirted around this thing between them for a while, but he’d been too scared to ever make a move. Once they wrested the gauntlet away from Thanos, and the restored world had time to settle back into its old rhythm, Peter just went for it. They’d been dating for two months now, and Peter was still in awe of the fact that she’d said yes.

Peter ultimately left the library with a spring in his step, and the promise of a date next week.

~*~

“—and then I was like, you’ve got to be _kitten_ me! And I grabbed the little guy and got him the heck out of there.”

Peter gesticulated wildly as he gave Mr. Stark his report for the two and a half weeks he and the Avengers were away. Saving the family and their kitten from the fire was definitely the highlight.

Peter paused his tale to eat another scoop of froyo. Typically he gave his weekly reports to Happy, but this time Mr. Stark had taken him out for some froyo when he came back with the team, to give them time to touch base face to face. Peter would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed Mr. Stark.

The cashier of the small midtown froyo shop was sneaking pictures of the two of them—Peter heard the faint click of the shutter sound going off on her phone. The customers, however, remained indifferent to them. Peter had to give New Yorkers credit; they were great at giving celebrities privacy, and pretending it wasn’t a big deal to do so.

“It certainly sounds like an adventure. You did good, kid.” Peter basked in the praise, a giddy, warm feeling in his chest. Mr. Stark was giving him that _look_ again, the one he treasured most of all, his eyes shining with paternal pride.

“So tell me what happened with you!” Peter leaned forward eagerly. “Did you see the other Peter?” Peter had hitched a ride with the Guardians back to Earth, and had enjoyed getting to know them all under much less dire circumstances. Educating the other Peter on memes was seriously a highlight of his life.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Star Dork was around, yes. He threw a grenade at an alien and yelled “yeet”.”

Peter gasped, and pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “I’m so proud.”

“You’re a terrible influence.”

~*~

Spider-Man swung through Queens, on a routine patrol. Now that Mr. Stark and the rest of the Avengers were back, he returned to focusing on his home turf. Privately, he missed the Manhattan skyscrapers; he couldn’t get nearly as much air out here.

He spotted a cop car as it screamed down the road, and followed after it. He grew nervous as the car drove closer and closer to May’s apartment, but the tension in his chest deflated when the car parked about five blocks away. He knew May’s route home from the subway, and it took her down a different road.

Peter landed lightly on his feet, behind the officers. He cleared his throat to let them know he was there. He’d learned to announce his presence to them gently after a startled cop once whirled around and clocked him in the face.

“What’s the situation, officers?”

He didn’t know these particular cops, but they knew him. Davis, read the name tag on the black cop’s chest.

“Hope you’ve got a strong stomach, Spidey.” Davis said.

Both curious and wary, Spider-Man followed the officers into an alleyway. They ducked beneath a strand of yellow police tape, and passed by a forensics officer getting out her kit.

At the end of the alleyway was a man, slumped against a dumpster. By the look of him, he was homeless.

Peter was assaulted by a vile stench: sweat, blood, and fecal matter mixed into one noxious fume. As he drew closer, he saw the man was dead. Not from exposure, or overdose, but something far more sinister. It looked like an animal got to him. His stomach was ripped open, and Peter observed with horror that his entrails had bites out of them. Someone—or some _thing_ —had eaten parts of this man.

“Christ.” Davis’ partner muttered. Peter tried his best not to puke.

“Spider-Man.” Davis addressed him. “You got any enemies that do stuff like this?”

He shook his head. This wasn’t even close to the m.o. of the villains he’d faced. The Vulture, the Scorpion, they were corrupt and cruel, but they never fell to this level of savagery. This was animalistic. Inhuman.

“I’ll look into it.” Spider-Man said. Once he surreptitiously took samples of evidence for his own investigation, he left the scene.

Two days later, another victim was found.


	2. The Shit Hath Hitith the Fanith

“Peter, we have to talk.”

Peter froze in the doorway of his apartment, keys still dangling in his hand. His aunt had posted herself in the living room, angled towards the front door of the apartment. Usually she went out Friday nights with her work friends, but today she seemed to have come right home to wait for him. She hadn’t even changed out of her nursing scrubs yet.

Uneasily, he took a seat on the couch beside her.

“What’s up?” He asked with a nonchalance he didn’t feel.

“You know I’m really trying with this whole…superhero thing. I’m never going to be comfortable with the thought of you going out there and putting yourself in danger.” May worried her lower lip. “But I can relax a little when I know that most of what you do is helping lost tourists and stopping pickpockets. I…when I heard about the fire in Chinatown—when I saw the footage of you throwing yourself into that burning building, I couldn’t breathe. Everyone at work was cooing over videos of you rescuing a kitten, but I couldn’t stop thinking of the danger you were in. I was so mad at you for endangering yourself like that.”

May drew in a sharp breath. Peter tensed. They were getting to her point, now.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking.” She leveled a stern look his way. “I heard all about it on the news. Two people killed in Queens within a week, with the same pattern. You can forget about going after the killer.”

“But May—!”

“But nothing. This is too much for you. I talked this over with Tony, and he agrees with me. You need to sit this one out.”

An ugly bolt of anger flashed through him. He was so sick of being treated like a _child_.

“In case you forgot, I’ve been on another planet! I fought Thanos! I even—” Peter cut himself off, unable to finish. The point was, a small-time killer was nothing compared to what he’d already fought against. How much more did he have to do to prove his capability? How long would they insist on babying him?

Aunt May was taken aback by his outburst, but stood firm.

“You need to leave this to the professionals. People who are trained to deal with this kind of thing. Whoever’s doing this, they’re not just killing people, they’re _eating_ them. They’re seriously sick, and dangerous.” Her voice wavered. “Peter, I don’t want to lose you again.”

His anger deflated, punctured by guilt.

“…Okay.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Thank you.” May wrapped him in a tight hug, which he returned. He breathed in her scent, his nose pressed to her hair. She smelled of lilac shampoo, and antiseptics from her shift at work. “Now. What do you say we pop in a movie? I can order us some takeout or something.”

Peter drew out of her embrace. “…Actually, I kind of told Ned I’d hang out with him tonight.”

“Oh. Well, okay. Another time, then.”

“Yeah.” Peter slipped off the couch and went to his room. He dumped his notebooks and textbooks out of his backpack, and threw in a few things for a night over at Ned’s: a pair of pajamas and a change of clothes for tomorrow, his toothbrush, etc.

On his way out the door, May stopped him.

“Let me see what you’ve got in there.”

He handed the backpack over, confused, as she rummaged through it.

Then it dawned on him. “May, I’m not bringing the suit.” He even pulled the collar of his shirt down a little, to show her he wasn’t wearing it beneath his normal clothes. Her mistrust, though warranted, still stung.

“I’m sorry, Peter.” May returned his backpack, apologetic. “It’s just, I know you mean well. And I know it means a lot for you to stay out of this. I appreciate you listening to me.”

Peter met her eyes and smiled. “I won’t look for the killer. I promised, didn’t I? Ned and I are just going to hang out.”

“Thank you, Peter.” She kissed his temple, then ruffled his hair affectionately. “Text me when you get there.”

“Will do.”

Peter caught the next uptown train, and rode the couple stops to Ned’s place. His best friend answered the door in his pajamas, and his confusion was apparent.

“Dude, weren’t we doing the _Lord of the Rings_ marathon tomorrow?”

“We were, but—can I come in?” Peter fiddled with the straps of his backpack. “I’ll explain everything inside.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Ned let him in. Peter shot off a quick text to Aunt May confirming he’d made it. Ned’s father was locked in his office, but his mother was in the kitchen, about to prepare dinner for the Leeds family.

“Peter!” Her smile was warm. “Good to see you, as always.”

“Hi, Mrs. Leeds.”

Ned piped up. “Uh, Mom, is it cool if Peter stays over?”

“Of course. Is meatloaf alright with you, Peter?”

“Sounds great,” Peter said.

“Well I won’t keep you then, go on.” She waved them off.

Once they were secure in Ned’s room, the door shut and locked, Ned rounded on Peter.

“What’s going on?”

“I need your help.” Peter explained his search for the Queens killer, and took a USB drive out of his pocket. “I transferred over the pictures I took from my suit to this thumb drive, so we can still reference them.”

“I guess _Lord of the Rings_ is really off the books then, huh.” Ned said, a bit rueful. Peter shot him a look, and he hastily added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with superhero-ing! Let me get my laptop.”

A vague guilt settled in Peter’s stomach as he watched Ned boot up his computer. The extended box set of the fantasy trilogy sat out on his desk, ready to be played. Ned had been looking forward to it; they both had.

“If you don’t want to help me, I’ll just—I’ll figure something else out. It’s okay.”

“Where’d you get that idea?” Ned’s brows creased. “Look, man, I don’t mind helping out. This is important stuff and all, I get it. And I don’t think I’ll ever be over the fact that my _best friend in the whole freaking world_ is an actual _Avenger_. It’s just…” Ned turned back to his laptop. He saved and closed out of the programs he had running, the school projects he’d been working on. Then, he quietly admitted, “…Sometimes, I miss when it was just Ned and Peter.”

“So do I.” Peter said. “But Ned, this is more important than us. I think if we don’t catch this guy soon, he’s going to hurt a lot of people.” Aunt May could be in danger. So could Ned, and any number of students at his school. He itched with the need to find the perpetrator _now_.

“Yeah. No, I get it.”

“Look. Once I’ve caught this guy, I swear. We’ll hang out for real.” He was well aware of the fact that he sounded like a freshly divorced dad trying to make peace with his estranged son. It was awful.

Ned’s face stretched in a teasing grin.

“You’ll even watch the _Hobbit_ trilogy with me?”

“God, Ned. The _Hobbit_ movies are the actual worst. Why even.” He placed a hand over his heart melodramatically. “But for you, I will endure. I’ll even keep my mouth shut during the “let’s shield surf on molten gold” scene.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Ned vowed. “Now, hand over that flash drive.”

Peter passed it over. As Ned plugged it in, Peter dragged over Ned’s gaming chair so they could sit side by side at Ned’s desk. A porg bobblehead stared him down from its perch by the desk lamp.

“It’s the pics folder.”

Ned opened it and brought up the first file. He paled at the graphic photograph of dead man in the alley.

“Oh, jeez.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit…much. That’s Noah Portman.” Peter took control of the mouse and clicked on another picture. “And that’s Miguel García. The only links I’ve found between them is they’re both male, and homeless. Noah suffered from a crack addiction, and Miguel had some untreated mental issues. They never worked at the same place, so it’s not an ex-colleague or anything like that, I don’t think. I’m pretty sure it was random.”

“It’s kind of messed up to say, but maybe the killer is targeting the homeless specifically. No one will really notice them missing, except the police.”

“Screwed up, but true, though. And it’s a good way for the killer to avoid larger media attention.”

Ned peered closer to the laptop screen.

“These bite marks are seriously crazy, too. I thought cannibals were supposed to cook the human meat. This psycho is just eating it raw. How is he not getting super sick?”

“Maybe the killer isn’t human.”

They spent a good hour comparing the bite marks to every known animal in New York—including those housed in the zoos. There were a few potential matches with bigger cats, but without the equipment in Peter’s suit handy, it was impossible to get a firm match.

“It could also be alien.” Ned mused. “Remember the Chitauri?”

“They all died when the Avengers closed the portal, though. And that was years ago.”

“Yeah, but what if one of them brought, like, an alien dog along with them? And it’s been hiding out in the subways until now.”

“That’d certainly explain all the delays.” Peter remarked, wry.

“You boys ready for dinner?” Mrs. Leeds called as she knocked on Ned’s door.

Ned fumbled the laptop shut.

“Yeah, we’ll be out in a minute!”

~*~

**QUEENS RIPPER STRIKES AGAIN**

The serial killer had a name, now, courtesy of the _Daily Bugle_. Simple and uninventive, but it made sense. The Queens Ripper left his victims shredded—or ripped, one could say—to ribbons, and defiled the organs just as the famous Jack the Ripper had. Granted, Jack hadn’t run around actually gorging himself on the organs, as far as historians knew. But it was a close enough comparison for the _Bugle._ A pit grew in Peter’s stomach as he read on.

Sarah Clark was a young woman, college age. She went out for her habitual evening run in Flushing Meadows and didn’t come back. Park Rangers found her body the next day, her internal organs ripped out of her stomach, the imprints of teeth on her ribs. The police were trying to trace the bite marks. Hopefully, they would find a match. Fuck, the park was so close to Forest Hills—to his and May’s apartment.

Jameson also couldn’t help but get in a dig at Spider-Man’s expense. “Where is Spider-Man when you actually need him?” the paper railed. A hot shame rose in Peter at that accusation. He was _trying_.

“…Peter?”

His eyes jerked up from his phone.

“Whoa, didn’t mean to startle you,” Eddie apologized, as he grabbed onto the same subway pole as Peter. “I didn’t know you took this train to school too, that’s awesome!”

“Yeah.” Peter pocketed his phone. He felt exhausted and sluggish—not really up to conversation this early in the morning. But Eddie was so enthusiastic…“How’ve your classes been so far?”

“Great!” Eddie gushed, too loudly. Sleep-deprived adults on their way to work glared at the pair of them. “I really like my bio teacher.”

“Johnson?”

“Yeah!”

“Just be ready for a lot of pop quizzes. He loves giving them on Mondays. And the day you get back from holidays.” Mr. Johnson was a great teacher, but he had a bit of a devilish streak.

“Good to know. Oh! And guess what! I joined the school paper in addition to the decathlon team. My mom got me that camera, so I’m going to be taking pictures and working on articles for them.”

The freshman sounded giddy.

“Eddie, why didn’t you go to an art school?” His face fell, and Peter hurriedly tacked on: “I mean, you’re seriously smart. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. But it just seems like you love photography more than science, you know?”

“I do want to be a journalist one day.” Eddie confessed. “I’ve always loved taking pictures. It’s like—you freeze a moment in time, that you’ll have forever. And you can share it with people that otherwise would’ve missed it, could’ve never seen it. And with everything going on in the world…we need journalists. Now, more than ever. Honest ones. But, well, you know how it is. I told my mom this and she gave me the usual adult bullshit. You’re too smart for that, there’s no money in it, blah blah blah.” Eddie’s clouded expression cleared. He shrugged it off. “But whatever. Once I’m out of high school, it’s out of her hands.”

“What about your dad?”

“Ah—divorced. I don’t really see him that often. He’s pretty busy.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not. He’s kind of a jerk.”

Their conversation then moved on to lighter topics. Peter gave Eddie tips on effective study methods, and the tics of the freshman teachers that he knew.

They parted ways once they reached the doors of Midtown Tech.

Peter sat through his classes, paying the barest amount of attention required of him. It was an honest struggle to keep his eyes open. His body ached like he’d been running all night, but he hadn’t gone on patrol at all. Aunt May limited his patrols to four times a week, so Peter spent Sunday night studying for an upcoming Spanish quiz. He’d gone to bed at a semi-reasonable hour, too, and yet he felt like he’d been up all night. Maybe he was coming down with a virus or something. That’d be just his luck. He’d be chasing down crooks with a handful of tissues stuffed in the back pocket of his suit. God, he did not want to clean snot out of his mask.

At lunch period, Peter took his usual seat with Ned at their table near the edge of the cafeteria. M.J. was already there, munching on an apple as she paged through a book. She acknowledged them with a glance, and went back to her reading. It was a new book from last week, he could tell by the spine. He’d have to ask how she’d liked the other one.

“Hey, guys. Can I sit here too?”

During their conversation on the train, Eddie and Peter discovered they shared the same lunch period. Eddie evidently decided to seek him out.

“Sure.” Peter liked Eddie, and who was he to deny the freshman’s hopeful look? He did hope Eddie planned on making additional friends in his own grade, though; they’d be gone in two years and Eddie wouldn’t.

Eddie beamed, and took the seat across from him and Ned. As he and Ned struck up a conversation about the newest, and very polarizing _Star Wars_ movie, Peter picked at his burger and fries. Ever since the spider bite, his metabolism burned crazy fast. Normally, lunch wasn’t enough, and he had to supplement his meals with snacks throughout the day. But after the first Queens Ripper attack, his appetite dulled. He couldn’t shake that nauseating smell of blood and shit, the pink and red of the dead man’s exposed insides.

Peter tried to take a bite. Just a small one. He nibbled at the edge of the burger. It was more bun than patty, but still his stomach roiled.

Peter discreetly coughed the bite back out into a napkin.

The nape of his neck prickled, and his gaze whipped up to meet M.J.’s. She was watching him, and it was clear from the look on her face that she’d seen the whole thing.

“Peter—”

“Sitting with your new boyfriend now, Penis?” Flash boomed. He was flanked on either side by his cronies. They all had their lunch trays in hand. Couldn’t they just sit down and eat, and not bother him? For one day? “Or is it all three of you together, is that how it works? Don’t tell me lard-o’s jealous.”

Peter was struck with the dizzying impulse to strike Flash. His eyes squeezed shut, and he shook the urge off. He was better than Flash. Just ignore him.

Eddie stammered, “We’re—We’re not—”

“Aw, look how red his face is!” Flash taunted. His plastic tray bumped deliberately into the back of Peter’s head. “Did he suck your dick, Parker? Is that how he got his spot on the team?”

M.J. was glaring daggers at the boys, while Ned was looking to Peter for what to do, and Eddie was totally mortified. Peter just ducked his head and tried to focus on his food.

Flash, of course, couldn’t stand to be ignored.

Peter’s spider-sense raised, right before Flash dumped the contents of his lunch tray over Peter’s head. He sputtered, wiping chocolate milk from his eyes.

“Whoops. My hands slipped.”

Peter stood and whirled on Flash, and the expression on his face must’ve been pretty furious, because Flash momentarily lost his smug veneer, and flinched back. Peter’s hands were clenched in fists so tight, his fingernails cut into his palms.

Feeling the eyes of the whole cafeteria upon him, Peter stalked off. His friends might’ve said something, but he was too consumed by the rage-induced headache thundering in his skull.

Peter entered the nearest bathroom. His hair was damp, and would dry sticky. And of course he’d picked today of all days to wear a light-colored shirt. It was stained now with milk and condiments. He dabbed at his shirt with a wet paper towel, for all the good it’d do.

He exhaled harshly. He was still so angry. Fucking Flash. Was his own life so lacking in any real purpose that the only thing he could think to do was torment him? For years, he’d taunted Peter. Made him feel small and stupid and worthless. For years, every adult just shrugged it off, told him to turn the other cheek. His anxiety, his humiliation, it was no big deal. Their lack of punishment just emboldened Flash. Peter _hated_ him.

Peter gripped the sides of the sink to brace himself—and then it cracked. A chunk of porcelain came away in Peter’s palm.

“Shit.”

Peter threw the wedge of porcelain into the trash and left.

A part of him wanted to just walk out, but he tamped down on the urge. He was still far from Principal Morita’s good graces thanks to the D.C. trip last year. He shouldn’t push it.

Peter grabbed his gym bag from his locker and changed his shirt in another bathroom.

He had his next class—pre-calc—with Ned. Peter ignored the worried looks his friend shot him, and left the texts from M.J. and Eddie both unanswered.

Just two more hours until he was free of this.

~*~

Spider-Man was his refuge from Peter Parker. Once he tugged the mask down over his face, he didn’t have to think about Peter’s problems anymore. He wasn’t dorky, weak, ineffectual Peter. He was confident, witty, athletic Spider-Man. With the mask on, he could just…be.

Spider-Man just finished explaining to a very bewildered family of tourists how to navigate the city (“No, not all trains go to Times Square. To get there, you’ll need to catch the Q at Queensboro Plaza going downtown. Not uptown. Or you’ll just keep going further into Queens if you go uptown, you see? No? Let me just—I’ll draw you a map.”) when his suit picked up an incoming video call.

His mentor’s face popped into view.

_“Hey, kiddo.”_

“What’s up, Mr. Stark?” Peter grinned. “Are we assembling?”

_“Always jumping the gun with that. No, there’s no world threatening crisis on the agenda for today. I just wanted to see how you were making out.”_

“…Really?”

_“What, I can’t check in with my favorite spider-themed vigilante from time to time?”_

“Don’t let Black Widow hear you say that.”

Mr. Stark sobered. _“I’m glad to find out you’re all peachy keen, but usually I don’t need to call to find out. But Happy told me he hasn’t gotten a report from you in two weeks.”_

“Oh.” Peter swallowed. His daily spam of texts to Happy had gradually tapered off to weekly updates in the past few months. And lately, Peter was too tired when he got home from patrols to even dream of shooting off a quick message to Happy. “Sorry. I kind of forgot. Just been a little busy lately.”

Mr. Stark hummed noncommittally. _“And you wouldn’t happen to be busy with the Ripper case, would you?”_

Peter carefully schooled his expression into one of surprise. “What? Mr. Stark, I promised May I wouldn’t investigate it. I’ve just been doing my usual thing.” To sell it, he added, “Though, if you want me to look into it, I totally can, I have a few ideas about—”

_“Yeah, not necessary, kid. You let the cops do their job, while you do yours.”_

Peter snapped off a quick salute, half-joking. “You got it, Mr. Stark.”

Once the call ended, Peter let out a deep sigh of relief. That was too close. He still wasn’t entirely sure Mr. Stark believed him.

He was also, admittedly, kind of annoyed. It seemed like ever since they’d defeated Thanos, Mr. Stark had gotten hyper-protective of Peter. On their way to Titan, Tony had decreed him officially an Avenger. But when they’d returned to Earth, it seemed as if Tony’s trust in him had regressed. He was ever-watchful, and benched him from minor skirmishes constantly.

Not for the first time, a dark thought glanced across his mind. Did he disappoint Tony on Titan? He was the one that’d been tasked with removing the gauntlet for their elaborate plan. He’d almost gotten it free before Thanos awakened. Almost. He could’ve prevented so much tragedy if he’d just been a little quicker.

Peter shook it off. Once he caught the Queens Ripper, Mr. Stark would understand how capable he was, and would back off a bit.

Flushing Meadows was where the third victim of the Queens Ripper was killed. Peter tried to put himself into the mind of the Ripper. It was possible he had killed the jogger to “level up”, but Peter had a hunch that was not his plan. There was a cluster of the homeless who lived together in one corner of the park. They slept on the benches, their shopping carts full of belongings parked beside them. Peter suspected the Ripper was on his way to the camp, but encountered the jogger on the way, and couldn’t help himself.

And so, once Spider-Man concluded his routine patrol through Queens, he circled around to the park, to check over the area himself. He swung from tree to tree until they thinned out too much, and he was left with no choice but to jog towards his destination.

“This sucks,” Peter huffed. Thank God he lived in the city. He could never survive in the suburbs.

The people of the homeless camp eyed him warily when he approached them. After handing over an armful of sandwiches from a nearby deli, one of the women spoke with him. None from their group were missing, and no one had caught sight of any strange activity. His hunch had fizzled out to a dead end. Still, before he left, he scaled a nearby tree and planted a small camera in its branches. The feed was connected to his suit. If the Queens Ripper tried to harm these people, Peter would know.

~*~

Of everything he’d gone through until this point, nothing had been as arduous as his current struggle to keep his eyes open.

Peter took the evening off his investigation for a movie night with M.J. It was her turn to pick the film, and she’d chosen a small indie flick that was only screening at the Angelika for two weeks. It was a documentary about the plastic waste crisis, which on an average day, Peter would be very interested in. Mr. Stark’s patented clean reactor energy was a great step forward in environmental protection, and lately he’d mentioned looking into biodegradable alternatives to plastics.

But frankly, Peter was exhausted. Two trailers in, his heavy eyelids dragged down. He promised himself he’d open them again once the trailers finished. He just needed to rest his eyes for a minute or so and then he’d be good to go.

Then M.J. elbowed him in the ribs.

Peter straightened up from his slouched position on his theater chair and rubbed the sand from his eyes.

“What happened?” He glanced around. The lights were back up. People were filtering out of the theater, animatedly discussing what they’d just seen.

“Show’s over.”

Peter winced.

“Sorry.”

M.J.’s brown eyes swept over him.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Peter followed her from the theater. The crispness of the October night air revived him, cleared the last clouds of sleep from his mind.

He trailed M.J. half a step behind, rubbing his neck. Her face was carefully blank, but Peter knew he was deader than dead for this.

They walked to the nearest park, and sat together on a bench. Despite the late hour, the city still bustled around them. People walked their dogs though the park. A little ways off, a traffic cop directed the bumper to bumper traffic to stave off gridlock. Peter winced as the man blew a shrill whistle, and rubbed his forehead.

M.J. still wasn’t saying anything. She just stared at him, contemplatively.

“So, uh. How was the movie?”

Idiot. He knew it was the entirely wrong thing to say, but his need to fill the silence overruled his common sense.

“Are you okay?”

“…Huh?” That wasn’t the barbed reply he was prepared for. “Yeah, you know me. I’m always fine.”

“So why do you look like death warmed over?” M.J.’s eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t you sleeping properly? Why aren’t you eating?”

“Whoa, M.J., you’re making this seem like a way bigger issue than it is,” Peter tried to laugh it off. “I swear. The other day, I just didn’t like the taste of the burger. I think the lunch ladies just like, left it out of the fridge too long or something.”

“The cafeteria burgers are always disgusting. But you still get them every Tuesday, and so does Ned. And he didn’t have an issue with the taste, or even comment on it.” She was eerily observant sometimes. “And you haven’t shown up to lunch since.”

“I’ve just been busy. Studying. In the library.”

He’d actually been reviewing the footage from the cameras he’d planted in the park, and had searched for additional leads on the Ripper case. Better to do it at school and on patrol than at home, because May would take the suit away from him for weeks if she found out. He didn’t bring a packed lunch, but he didn’t need one. He hadn’t been hungry lately.

“Studying for what?”

“Oh, you know.” Peter waved his hand in a vague motion. “Tests and stuff.”

M.J. was still unconvinced. He realized now his folly in bragging to Ned at lunch that he didn’t need to study as much as his best friend did.

“Look, I’m sorry. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve just been really busy between school and the Stark internship lately. I think it’s all just…getting to me a bit.”

“You’re allowed to take breaks, Peter.” M.J. frowned. “Do I need to go over to Stark Industries and kick Iron Man’s rusty ass?”

“No! No, that won’t be necessary.” He feared for the world if Ms. Potts and M.J. crossed paths. “I’ll be fine. I am fine.”

Once the Queens Ripper was caught, he’d slow down a bit. He’d dial back a little on his patrols, and make more of an effort to get proper food and sleep. Once the Ripper was caught.

~*~

Peter had completely forgotten to page through the reading he’d been given for decathlon, but mercifully M.J. didn’t quiz them on the homework she’d assigned them. Instead, today Mr. Harrington was having them hold a mock competition.

Mr. Harrington divided them into two teams. Unfortunately, he’d put Flash and Peter on opposite sides. Which, of course, meant that Flash took the harmless practice as a personal challenge.

The two teams were evenly matched, and remained tied for most of the competition. But when the quiz turned to the topic of genetics, the other team had no chance. Peter had devoured every book and scientific article on the topic that he could get his hands on after the bite.

“Which kind of mutation does not typically change the length of a chromosome?” Mr. Harrington read off his sheet of questions.

Flash’s hand shot to his bell.

“Translocation!” He blurted.

 “Incorrect.”

Peter rang his bell immediately. “Inversion.”

Mr. Harrington nodded. “You got it!”

Flash’s glare burned twin holes into Peter’s back. Annoyance prickled through him. It wasn’t Peter’s fault Flash didn’t know what he was talking about.

Mr. Harrington followed up his question with several others related to the field of genetics. At first, Flash kept blurting out answers. It was obvious to all of them he was just trying to beat Peter to the punch. He slammed his fist on his button, then stammered the first (incorrect) answer that came to his mind.

After Flash’s third outburst, Mr. Harrington said, not unkindly, “Don’t be so hasty to press the buzzer first. Someone else on your team might know the answer.”

No one was mocking Flash, or laughing at him, though everyone shared mutual grimaces at the cringe-worthy situation. But still, it was plain from the embarrassed flush on his face Flash thought they were all judging him. After Mr. Harrington’s advice, Flash slumped down into his seat, and let the rest of the questions pass by uncontested. With the string of correct answers given by Peter, his team won the practice match.

After reminding the club of their upcoming match in two weeks’ time, their teacher dismissed them all. Peter said goodbye to his friends before he headed for the nearest bathroom. He’d learned the hard way it was always better to pee before patrol.

Peter opened the bathroom door to the sound of quiet crying.

Flash braced himself on the sink. Peter saw the reflection of his face in the mirror. His cheeks flamed with embarrassment, and unshed tears of humiliation were in his eyes.

Peter tried to edge back out of the bathroom, but the traitorous door creaked, announcing his presence.

Flash whirled around. Panic flickered across his expression, at being caught in such a state. Then anger rose up to replace it. His hands balled into fists by his sides.

“Um…”

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Flash snarled. “What, are you stalking me now? Fucking fag.”

“Flash, I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up!”

Flash lunged towards him with a clumsy punch. Peter could’ve dodged it easily. Or he could’ve sucked it up and taken the hook to the jaw—it wasn’t the first time Flash had gotten physical.

But he was just so fed up with this.

Peter caught Flash’s hand, and turned his wrist around. Flash cried out, in shock and pain. His legs threatened to buckle under him. He tried to tug away, but his strength was nothing to Peter’s own. Peter tightened his grip enough to bruise—he _wanted_ it to bruise, he wanted Flash to be reminded of this for days, wanted Flash to understand a crumb of the fear he’d felt all these years.

“You need to leave me alone,” Peter hissed. “Enough’s enough.”

Peter released him, then, though something squirmed inside of him, howling it wasn’t nearly enough for all that Flash had done to him. His fingers twitched with the compulsion to make a fist.

Flash cringed away from him, raising his hands defensively. There was pure terror in his eyes. A thrill of satisfaction shuddered up Peter’s spine.

He turned and left the shivering heap of his bully behind him.

~*~

The next day, Peter enjoyed one of the best days at high school he’d ever had. Flash and his posse avoided Peter like the plague. Peter was never called into the principal’s office, either, which meant Flash was too afraid of him to tattle.

“What did you _do_?” Ned hissed to him in physics. They’d broken up into pairs for a lab, and Flash had sat as far from Peter as possible, meekly keeping his head down and focused on his work. Normally, Flash delighted in jeering at him from the lab table next to his and Ned’s; he loved to screw Peter up right in the middle of tests, forcing him to redo the trials. Peter just shrugged off Ned’s question with a small laugh. They finished their lab project in record time.

Peter set off that afternoon for patrol in a high mood, despite the gravity of his investigation. He swung by the cameras he’d set up around the city, just to make sure they were all still working properly, and were firmly attached to the buildings and trees he’d stick them on. His webbing was firm, but there was supposed to be a storm tomorrow and he didn’t want to risk any of them being knocked from their positions.

The Ripper hadn’t claimed another victim in days. Peter was sure he’d strike soon. The NYPD released a statement disclosing the bite marks they found as inhuman and unreadable, furthering Ned’s theory that the killer was something alien to their world. Peter didn’t want to dismiss the possibility of a human killer just yet. He’d had altercations already with Toomes, who fused alien tech with human to create weapons distinctly unique. He’d also fought a man who could shapeshift into a freaking _lizard_ at will. So, a person who’d developed some kind of werewolf serum, or developed a new shredding weapon wasn’t impossible.

Peter was frustrated at his utter lack of progress. He couldn’t reach out to Mr. Stark, or use his resources, as he’d promised his mentor and his aunt he wouldn’t get involved. He was trying everything he could think of, but he needed more data. He needed a witness, something. Peter had canvassed the areas where the victims had been found, but he’d had no luck with them. Anyone that had heard strange noises in the night dismissed them—it _was_ New York, after all.

Peter’s attention was snagged by a muffled scream. This, at least, he could handle.

Spider-Man perched at the edge of the roof of a bar. A 20something woman struggled to fend off a large drunkard’s pawing hands.

“Let go of me!” She kicked him in the shin, but he was too heavyset for the blow to make any real impact.

Spider-Man landed behind them. “Haven’t guys like you learned from Harvey yet? No means no!”

The man sized him up, and drunken logic told him he could totally take on Spider-Man. The man lumbered over to Peter for a fight. Peter knocked him out cold with one swift punch. He frowned. He’d hit the man hard enough to break his jaw; he hadn’t meant to use that much force. Well, whatever. The creep deserved it.

Peter stepped over the man’s unconscious form to reach the shaken woman.

“You alright, miss?”

“Yes, thanks to you.” She flashed him a relieved smile.

Peter walked her from the back alley to the curb, and stayed by her side until she’d gotten securely inside a cab.

His loitering on the ground attracted a small crowd to him. Spider-Man lingered for a handful of selfies with his adoring public, and then he was off again, swinging past rooftops, ears pricked for any hint of danger.

“Spider-Man! Hey! Wait!”

Peter nearly lost his grip of his web. He _knew_ that voice.

Eddie Brock ran over to him, face flushed from exertion. It seemed he was bumping into Eddie everywhere he turned.

“Spider-Man,” He panted, bracing himself on his knees. “I’ve been trying to catch up to you since Greenpoint.”

Peter did his best to deepen his voice. “Well, you found me. How’d you do that, kid?” He hadn’t taken a direct route to get from Sunnyside to Long Island City; he liked to keep his patrols loose and unpredictable. It wouldn’t do for criminals to memorize his route and plan around it.

Eddie showed Peter his phone. The freshman’s hand was shaking with his excitement. On the screen, little Spidey masks dotted a map of Queens.

“There’s a Spider-Tracker app! It pulls in the sightings of you from Twitter and stuff and posts all the locations, so we fans have an idea of the area you’re in so we can say hello, or snap selfies when you swing by! Cool, right?”

Well, that was….huh. Clever, and a bit disturbing. He would have to ask Mr. Stark what to do about this, but for now…

“So, what did you need help with?”

Eddie quickly brought out his camera from his backpack, and then snapped the lens on. “Well, you see, the thing is, I just started at my school paper, and I wanted to do a report on you. If that’s okay.”

“On me?” Peter was flattered, frankly. And a bit mortified.

“Yeah! Like, a whole story on you. I think it’s great, what you do for the city.” Eddie smirked. “Plus, it’ll piss off my dad. You ever read the _Daily Bugle_?”

“Your dad writes on the _Bugle_?”

“Not just writes on it—he’s the editor in chief.”

“Your father is J.J. Jameson?” Peter’s voice climbed in shock. But Eddie’s last name was Brock. Oh, but didn’t he say his parents were divorced? So he must’ve taken his mom’s name.

“So you do know him.” Eddie grimaced. “I’m sorry he’s saying all that stuff about you. But I know it’s not true! And so do the people of Queens. So let me help you out. I’ll give you some good press. I mean, it’s just a high school paper, but still!”

Peter was admittedly tempted. Mr. Stark purposefully kept him away from all the Avengers press conferences; he didn’t want anyone asking hard questions about Peter’s identity. But it was difficult, sometimes, to listen to people like Jameson rail on about him and have no way to retort.

But he had no business giving an interview when the people of Queens were still endangered.

“Sorry kid. Maybe another time.”

Eddie was visibly disappointed, but he didn’t try to follow as Spider-Man scaled a nearby building and launched himself back into the night sky.

He checked the cross section of streets he was at, and turned left, towards the direction of Flushing Meadows. He’d do one more sweep of the park, and then he’d call it a night.

~*~

Peter awoke the next morning to 34 unread texts and 12 missed calls. Squinting blearily at the bright screen—only 6:13 in the morning, God—Peter went to read the texts when his phone buzzed in his hand with yet another call.

Peter groaned as the ringtone blared. His head felt like Ant Man had crawled inside his brain while he was asleep, and drove a jackhammer through his brain. He checked the caller, and adrenaline shot him upright in bed. He answered the phone immediately.

“M-Mr. Stark?” Why was he calling so early? “What’s going on? Do you need me for something?”

_“….Kid, have you seen the papers?”_

“No? Why? What’s happening?”

Peter launched out of bed. He flipped open his laptop and tapped random keys until the machine dragged itself out of sleep.

_“Listen. We’re going to talk about this soon, okay? Happy is heading over right now. Do not panic.”_

Peter waited impatiently for his wifi to reconnect. Once the bars lit up, he loaded up the _Daily Bugle_ homepage.

“Mr. Stark, that’s exactly the wrong…”

Oh God.

**IS SPIDER-MAN THE QUEENS RIPPER?!**

There was a photo him in a park. It was blurry, out of focus, and poorly lit. But he could still identify the Spider-Man suit. His front was splashed red with gore. And at his feet was a dead man.

Peter swallowed, hard.

“Mr. Stark, I—I didn’t—”

 _“You didn’t—Peter, I know you didn’t do it. Honestly, kid.”_ Mr. Stark assured him. Peter scrolled down past the body of the article, to the comments. They cried for Spider-Man’s arrest, for his identity to be revealed by the Avengers, for his death.

_“Peter.”_

He flinched.

_“Are you listening to me now?”_

Peter let out a shaky laugh. “Y-Yeah. Yeah. This is bad. This is really, really bad, I don’t know—”

_“Deep breaths, Peter. Follow after me. Inhale.”_

Peter sucked in a deep breath.

_“Exhale.”_

He let it out in a big gust.

_“Good. Now listen. This isn’t my first rodeo with the media bull, okay? We just have to get in front of this. I’ve got some great PR people, and a few favors I can cash in. This will all go away.”_

Relief crashed over Peter so hard he felt faint.

“You can fix this?”

_“I will, Pete. I promise. Like I said, Happy is coming to you right now. He’s going to take you to the Compound, where we’re going to talk about this, okay? We’ll get through it. I promise. I need you to stay calm and wait for Happy, okay?”_

Peter nodded frantically, then remembered this was an audio-only call. “I can do that.”

_“Good. I’ll see you soon. Everything’s going to be alright. I swear, Pete.”_

They said their goodbyes, and Mr. Stark hung up.

Why was this happening? After patrol, he’d come home and crashed hard in his bed.

Right?

Peter rushed to his closet, and dug his superhero suit out of the back. The fabric was red and blue, stains nowhere to be found. He pressed the fabric to his face and sniffed. It smelled freshly laundered.

Could May have washed it last night? No, he remembered now that she’d taken over a coworker’s night shift. But he hadn’t washed it last night. He remembered just stripping off his suit and stuffing it in the back of his closet before sleep beckoned him. He _had_ washed it a few days ago. Maybe the fragrance just lingered?

And besides. The important thing was there were no stains. He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have. He’d never.

And yet, that photo still existed, somehow. It could’ve been photoshopped. But surely the _Daily Bugle_ would be able to tell if a photograph was digitally manipulated, right? The _Bugle_ was more opinionated than most papers; it definitely had a slant. But it wasn’t a gossip magazine, it was a legitimate, well-established newspaper. There was no way they’d allow a doctored picture to print.

It had to be someone else, then. Someone wearing a suit made to look like his own. A copycat to frame him. But who would want to frame Spider-Man? What was there to gain from it? Who benefited?

People like Jameson, he supposed. Regular people who wanted those super-powered removed from their city.

It wasn’t going to be easy for Mr. Stark to quiet this, despite his easy confidence over the phone. Guilt wracked him. Peter was really nothing but trouble for Mr. Stark. He saved his equipment, but ruined his multi-million dollar invisible jet in the process. He made Iron Man clean up his mess on the Staten Island Ferry, he made Iron Man save him from that Hammerdrone at the Stark Expo—

Peter jumped as his alarm for school went off. He silenced it.

Eight of the missed calls on his phone were from Ned, the other four from Mr. Stark. The texts had all been Ned freaking out about the _Bugle_ article. Peter texted him back, telling him he wouldn’t be at school today, and he’d talk with him later.

There was nothing from his aunt yet. She was most likely on her way back right now from the night shift. She was going to be so pissed, and he doubted he’d believe his copycat story without solid proof.

Peter rubbed his temples. He grabbed a fistful of Advil and shoved the pills in his mouth. He couldn’t think straight with the constant pounding of his head.

It didn’t take much longer for Happy to arrive. Peter stuffed his suit in his backpack—his proof of his innocence—and went downstairs to meet him. It was clear from the look on his face that Happy was aware of the situation. He greeted Peter with a terse nod, and Peter let himself into the back of the car.

They rode in silence. Peter leaned against the window and watched Queens go by. He saw Happy out of the corner of his eye, sneaking glances at him through the rear-view mirror. Mercifully, he didn’t try to engage Peter in conversation. He was far from the mood for it.

The _Daily Bugle_ headline glared at him from every newsstand they drove by. Despite himself, Peter checked the situation on his phone. Buzzfeed posted an article titled “Top Ten Reasons Spider-Man is Hot Garbage”. Already. And with _gifs_.

He didn’t know how Mr. Stark would be able to fix this. He didn’t know if he could, even with all his power and clout. Yesterday, Peter was largely unknown outside of New York. The story of him being sucked up by the spaceship was even overshadowed by Mr. Stark’s disappearance. Most New Yorkers approved of him, or at the very least tolerated him. There were of course fringe groups, those that hated anyone super-powered, or fear mongers like Jameson. But the tide of public opinion had shifted alarmingly overnight. Peter read through the comments of every article on the incident he could find. There was nothing positive, no one defending their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. There was just disgust, fear, and hate.

Once he arrived at the compound, FRIDAY directed him to Mr. Stark’s workshop. His mentor was deep in the guts of a suit. (He always tinkered with his tech when something was on his mind.) The door chimed as Peter walked in, and Mr. Stark straightened up, wiping his grease-stained fingers off on the edges of his wife-beater.

He looked Peter up and down, frowning.

“You look like shit, kid.”

“Gee, thanks.” It came out more acerbic than he meant.

“Pepper called for a press conference this afternoon. We’re going to get the story all straightened out.” Mr. Stark spoke to him quietly, carefully, like one would use to coax out a wounded animal from its den. Inexplicably, it set Peter’s teeth on edge. “So why don’t you start at the beginning for me?”

Peter shrugged. He crossed his arms. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Really?” Mr. Stark’s tone was flat, skeptical. “Nothing at all? What’s been going on during your patrols lately?”

“Just the usual stuff, you know. Giving tourists directions and all that.”

“So there’s nothing you want to tell me about?”

“There’s nothing worth telling.”

“You didn’t think I’d like to know about a major malfunction in your suit? Because when I saw the news this morning, I had FRIDAY reach out to Karen. Only to find that she was offline and couldn’t be reactivated, and what’s more, that she’d been unresponsive for three weeks. And you somehow didn’t think that was worth mentioning to me?”

“Karen isn’t malfunctioning.” A headache pressed hard against his temples, like it was trying to push past the confines of his head. He’d shut off the AI for a reason. What was it? “I…I shut her off.”

“You have a problem with my tech all of a sudden?” Tony feigned nonchalance. Peter heard the hurt in his voice.

“I don’t need it. I don’t need you always looking over my shoulder.” Peter glared at him. “I don’t need her sending you constant updates of my vitals, my location. It’s not necessary. That’s all.”

Mr. Stark’s lips pursed. He tapped a file on his work table, and a holographic display of Queens popped into existence. Threaded throughout the streets were red lines. Mr. Stark tapped a section of the grid, focusing on the neighborhood where the first victim was found. The red line jumbled like a pile of dropped yarn, as it looped from door to door near the alleyway.

“That’s odd. Because it looks to me like you shut off the AI in your suit so you could investigate the Ripper by yourself without me finding out about it.”

“You’ve been _tracking_ me?” He’d removed the tracker from the suit ages ago, back in D.C., and he knew Mr. Stark had never replaced it.

“You didn’t think there was only one tracker in your suit, did you? I put several backups in to protect you, if Karen was ever inaccessible, if I ever needed to find you.”

“You had no right.” Peter said, hotly. This was what it all came down to. After all they’d been through, Mr. Stark still didn’t trust him.

“I have every right.” Mr. Stark said, tightly. “Gotta say, kiddo, really didn’t expect you to lie straight to my face. I’m going to ask you this once. What happened last night?”

“You think I did it?”

“I think you were set up.” Mr. Stark said. “I know you were in Flushing Meadows last night. The tracker puts you there. I know you were trying to find the killer. And the killer knew it too.” He dragged a hand over his face. “Damn it, Pete. This whole disaster with the media is why I _told_ you to leave it for the police. The guy knew you’d look for him. That’s why he set up this whole frame. Hell, he might’ve killed those people in Queens because he knew you’d be the one to come running. And you played right into his hands.”

“Did you seriously expect me to leave this alone?” Peter shouted. “He killed people in my _neighborhood_ , Tony. Five blocks away from my aunt. And I was just supposed to listen to you and do nothing?”

Tony’s mouth snapped shut. He was floundering, it was plain to see. They rarely argued, and when they did it was always more one-sided, Mr. Stark scolding Peter for doing something risky and dumb. But right now, Peter was beyond anger. His body thrummed with a rage so ferocious his hands trembled. How _dare_ he go behind Peter’s back like this. Like he couldn’t take care of this, like he wasn’t _handling_ it.

“Look.” Mr. Stark tried again. “When I put these limits in place, it’s not because I don’t trust you, or believe in you, or anything like that. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t _need_ your protection. I don’t want it.” The words were like poison, spilling out before Peter could even think them through. “What good is it anyway, when you already let Thanos—”

Tony froze.

“You know what, here.” Peter yanked his backpack open and pulled out his suit. He threw it at Tony’s feet. “We’re done.”

Peter turned his back on Tony and left.


End file.
